Louise Summons Paarthurnax
by SillyGoy
Summary: Instead of Saito Hiraga, Louise summons Paarthurnax as her familiar. How will the old dragon deal with this? Rated M for safety.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction. Read and review, critique me harshly, and please do give suggestions.**

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It is the 26th of Sun's Dusk; Fourth Era; Year Two Hundred and Eleven. It has been three months since the Dragonborn felled Alduin in Sovngarde, and many things have changed: Dragons now roam the skies, taming nature a bit with each of their shouts; the Empire's presence is now absolute in Skyrim, with many of their Legionnaires marching here and there, the clanging of their bright steel armor scaring off many a deer; and, the Thalmor are retreating and discontinuing their operations in Skyrim, because the Dragonborn is currently on a, what he calls, a "holy war" against the oppressive elves. The dead bodies of High Elves clad in ominous, inquisitorial black robes has become a common sight on the roads of Skyrim, the poor sods killed either by the Dragonborn or his many, many followers and adoring fans. Many followers indeed, coming to Skyrim from Hammerfell, and Morrowind, and Black Marsh, and all the other provinces in Tamriel. Whether Argonian, Dunmer, Nord, Imperial, Khajiit, Bosmer, Orsimer, or any other race, the Dragonborn does not discriminate - he takes these people and shapes them into strong warriors, or even sneaky little spies, able to move the heart of even the most unfeeling of all nobles to become sympathetic to the Dragonborn's cause with their silver tongues and honeyed words. Battle and Politics - the Dragonborn is skilled in these things.

But Paarthurnax cares not. For he enjoys his Strunmah - his mountain, oh so much. The old dragon, whose scales are now gray, and whose wings are now tattered, circles high around the Throat of the World. The strong winds and the cold snow buffet the face of the old Dovah, but good old Paarthurnax enjoys the feeling of it. Because this is his Strunmah - his mountain, and he is circling above its peak; and he enjoys it very much. He is deep in thought for a moment, pitying the Joore - the mortals - and their lack of wings, for they cannot ever experience the joy and fun that one gets when they are circling their very own Strunmah. He feels sorry for the Dovahkiin, even; but this train of thought is interrupted; it is not long before he desires a change in scenery: the dark, overcast clouds and the gloomy, punishing blizzard simply aren't pleasing him anymore. And so, with his great Voice, he Shouts; and Mother Nature herself is humbled. In the blink of an eye, the blizzard and the dark clouds are gone, and there is only golden sunshine and the beautiful blue sky of Skyrim. The sight of this makes even an old dragon like Paarthurnax very giddy; this is one of his very few Smoliin - his passions, his hobbies - and he enjoys it very, very much. Maybe even more than he enjoys his mountain.

There is an anomaly, however. One that makes him halt mid-flight. An ominous green oval of some sort hovers in front of him. How long had that been there? Certainly, it had to be only recently, for Paarthurnax's knowledge of his Strunmah and its surrounding environment is masterful, and he is confident in the sharpness of his senses. He ponders for a moment. Then, he is taken by curiosity. The magicks of the oval in front of him is strange; he is sure that no mortal, no daedra, not even aedra, could have conjured such a thing. He should know, for he is the King of the Dragons.

Ah yes, crowned right after Alduin's skull received the Dovahkiin's greatsword so readily in Sovngarde. That ceremony had not been done in how many thousands of years. Truly, that was one of Paarthurnax's most greatest moments. To be crowned the ruler of his kind - what an honor! There were some dragons flying about, and some landed on the peak, but all of them spoke, some in chorus, while others spoke alone, but their all voices were powerful and made very air of Skyrim shudder. The Dragonborn himself was there, a witness to Paarthurnax's moment of glory, but he understood not a single word the dragons had said. Odahviing, who is now passing over the Throat of the World, was also there, and conversed with the Dragonborn after the ceremony. Odahviing does not seem to notice the green oval, however; Alduin's former second-in-command instead raises a metaphorical eyebrow at Paarthurnax as if to ask, _"Why are you staring at me like that?"_ This does not last very long, and the two dragons exchange greetings -_**"Drem Yol Lok." **_Odahviing leaves after that. Now Paarthurnax is alone.

And he starts to fiddle around with the oval. Little blue wisps of pure magic escape his mouth as he whispers some words to it; he makes sure that there are no traps. Finding the oval free of anything that might even be remotely dangerous to him, Paarthurnax nods his head in approval. Then he flies closer to it. And then he touches his snout with it. The texture of the thing is outlandish, and Paarthurnax suddenly finds himself being sucked in! He is surprised, but he has been in many an unexpected encounter before; he is confident that he can escape from whatever this thing is. However, manages only a single flap of his wings before he is taken in, entirely. The world around Paathurnax is suddenly no longer _sane_. Colors shift and change all around him, and there are many different shapes, but there is no sound at all, save for the ones that he's making. Angered, Paarthurnax lets out a defiant roar and starts to flap his wings - only to find out that there is no air for them to push against. But if that is the case, how is he breathing normally? But he does not ponder over this, as he falls into the bright white light at the end of the abyss. And when he hits that bright white light, he is met with these three things: fire, smoke, and the unmistakable sound of an explosion.

Paarthurnax squints his two black eyes, swiveling his head left and right - where had he gone to? There is dust all around him, brown, dirty clouds that hover lazilly in the air. And there is also much coughing - but from who? Some foolish Joore - foolish mortals - who had invented some kind of new magick and abducted him? And now they want to kill him? Ha! Paarthurnax has not fought in many years, but he has not forgotten how to battle. He expects a fight; and he desires a challenge - but he is disappointed. For as the clouds of dust dissipate all around him, he sees not foolish, evil mages, but foolish little children. Are these the people that had abducted him? Did they even want to abduct him in the first place? Did they have something to do with the oval? Did he make some sort of great, stupid mistake that will make both sides suffer; and will he come to regret it later? He does not have an answer to these questions. Still, a part of Paarthurnax sighs in disappointment, for he expected battle, and he received nothing. He perks up, however, as he hears the children speak. It is also at this point that he notices an adult among the children - a balding man with small round glasses sitting on his nose, wearing blue robes and carrying a wooden staff. A mage.

And then he gets a clear view of his new environment. He stands upon a great field of perfectly-trimmed, unnaturally healthy grass, whose blades try their hardest to tickle his thick scales, to no avail. There are also great towers of stone that are linked together by high walls, also made of stone, to form a pentagon. He feels magicka everywhere - this place is covered in enchantments and protective spells and wards. In front of him are the children, and even they have enchanted items on them. The children talk to each other, and Paarthurnax listens closely.

But he cannot seem to understand the mortals. Their language is unknown to him. Their clothes are also strange; they all wear white cloth of some sort and they all wear capes; the females wear skirts, while the males wear pantaloons - that is all that Paarthurnax can discern at the moment with regards to clothing. With their reactions to him, however, their faces are sufficient enough to discern their meaning - jaws are dropped agape, eyes are widened, and lips curl into 'O's in wonder. Paarthurnax expected this from them, but he takes no pleasure in being admired. He is, unbelievably, a humble dragon - who happens to enjoy Strunmah very much, especially his own. He does not want to revert to his old, dominant, and cruel self. But even then, he finds great amusement when the little children - even the well-endowed one with brown skin and red hair - would suddenly stumble whenever he would stare at them for too long. Do they fear him? Most definitely yes; but it is as amusing as it is pitiful. Their little animal companions would do the same as well, although their expressions are more exaggerated, more lively - and Paarthurnax doesn't feel bad for them at all; in fact, he loves it. Quake in fear, little dogs and birds and lizards! Know that I am bigger than you! Even the four-legged, white-blue, winged lizard with a rounded beak - its shape so reminiscent of that of a Dovah's - looks rather troubled. This is fun. Know that I am superior to you, little one! Now, there are some creatures there that the old dragon does not recognize, and Paarthurnax verily wants to gain knowledge about them, but he will ask questions later.

Paarthurnax gives himself an internal chuckle, but he is taken with curiosity once again when a child with long, curly hair approaches him. She is happy, definitely; she is smiling, and she seems to be bouncing up and down as she moves forwards, almost skipping and hopping, towards him. Paarthurnax lowers his head so that it is level with the child's; maybe this one has something to ask him? Ask away then, for Paarthurnax can be a good grandfather when he wants to be. Now the little pink-haired child and Paarthurnax's large head are now very close to each other; and Paarthurnax just keeps staring at her as she says something - Paarthurnax does not know what, for he cannot understand their language; Paarthurnax has not at all moved very much since he had been brought to this place. Paarthurnax tilts his head after the sweet little child had kissed him on the snout, confused at the act. Maybe this child is one of the mortals who worship the Dovah as gods? Paarthurnax turns his head to watch as runes of some sort burn themselves onto his left wing, although he does not react much to the pain. Paarthurnax becomes suspicious, inquisitive.

_**"Joor. What have you done to viingi - my wing?"**_

And then the children's expressions turn from awe and fear to even _greater_ awe and fear. Eyes are widened and jaws are dropped agape a second time. There's also some children who show admiration, but the one right in front of him - the girl with the long, curly pink hair - is absolutely _jubilant_; she grins a grin of pure happiness as she bounces up and down, and as she pumps her first in a victory of some sort - Paarthurnax does not know what. Paarthurnax is curious. He knows that whoever these people are, they definitely aren't hostile, even if those runes did hurt when they burned into him. And, speaking of the runes - he does not know anything of the magicks behind them, so he is still mindful of them; and he plans on inquiring the Joore about them and other things later. One thing is for certain, though: the runes don't bind his soul to someone else's, for he still has his free will. He thanks his father, Akatosh, for that.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews and kind words everyone. I sure hope that this chapter will garner even more kind words...**

**Remember: critique me as harsh as my squishy heart can take, and please do give suggestions so that I may get better at writing.**

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**Louise's dragon familiar spoke.** In Brimir's name, it **spoke**. She couldn't understand it, but still - **it spoke**. It said something along the lines of _"Jhooor, wadaesah kazeousdgj pardoveein veengi - skdugsuydglksudglu"_ or some other gibberish, but a quick translation spell should fix that! In moments, Louise would be conversing with her very own Rhyme Dragon! Well, half a Rhyme Dragon anyway. Sure, her new familiar may have spikes that run along its back (meaning she can't ride on it), and it may have two diabolical-looking horns jutting out of its head, and its wings may be tattered; and, most obvious of all, not have forelegs, but a Rhyme Dragon is a Rhyme Dragon, and this one is _hers_. Hers! Founder Brimir Himself must have heard her prayers last night and wept at the desperation with which she prayed, deciding to show mercy upon the child by giving her a strong, divine, beautiful, and very intelligent familiar.

Now, the thought of God Himself actually answering her prayers is making Louise feel all giddy inside. With a little dainty finger, she wipes a forming tear from her eye, and says something, a few words of gratitude - which Paarthurnax cannot understand, because he cannot speak French. But Paarthurnax is a patient dragon, so he just watches, sits still, as his tiny new master - he does not know that she is his new master yet - acts on her emotions, which have overwhelmed her.

With a cute a tiny curving her equally tiny, pink lips, and happiness in her heart, Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière, points her wand at Paarthurnax. Not a moment later, she begins to chant.

And everyone else begins to flee. Tabitha, Kirche, Guiche, Malicorne, Colbert, and others, fly away from Louise. Colbert, the bald mage in blue robes, had dismissed them right after Louise had performed 'Contract Servant', so they are now free to do whatever they like for the rest of the day. And right now, what they want is to get away from Louise - as far away as possible. All her spells end up as explosions, and none of them are currently in the mood to be near the bloody, headless corpse of a dragon.

But Paarthurnax does not know this, so he just keeps still, watching closely the little girl in front of him with his two big, black eyes whose abyss-like appearance only hints at the nigh-infinite amount of knowledge he possesses. Yes, indeed, Paarthurnax watches; Paarthurnax observes; Paarthurnax is good at these things, for he has learned how to be patient during his long, immortal life. Teaching Nords how to use the Thu'um helped a lot, definitely. He sinks into old memories for a moment, wondering how he had manage to resist the urge to swat away the Nords who did not learn as quickly as he wanted with his wings. Old memories indeed, thousands of years in age. A great war - the dragon war - was fought during those times, and it was in that war that Paarthurnax fought his own broth-

**BANG!**

An explosion at Paarthurnax's face! Hostility! Violence! The pink-haired girl in front of Paarthurnax? Well, she had just cast a destruction spell at him! He is sure of it! Two words come immediately to the old dragon's mind: Fight or Flight?

Ah, but his answer is just as fast: _'Fight. For if this mortal in front of me desires to kill me, then so be it. I will clamp my jaws around her tiny body and sever her in two. Her blood will splash around in my mouth, and I will drink it with glee. Should I die, I will accept her superiority and bow to her once I am reborn. And if she wants to kill me again and again, then so be it; my pride requires me to fight. Ah, the urge to devour her whole gnaws at my heart. Or perhaps I should show mercy instead? Doesn't a moment of laxity spawn a lifetime heresy? A Dragon Priest said that once. I think I will apply it now. Mercy it is, then. I will not revert back to my old self. I will give this child a warning instead. My answer is 'neither'.'_

Truly, what a wholesome dragon. Paarthurnax stays still. He may or may not have flinched at the pain that the explosion brought. But, to his surprise, there are no following explosions, no thin edge of a blade, nor the concussion of a warhammer to his face - only words. Words that he can understand; words that have no hostility in them. Words coming from Louise, his tiny - and, unknown to him - master. They are simple words:

"C-can you understand me?"

_'Perfectly.'_

Paarthurnax blinks. A destruction spell that imparted the knowledge of language to the victim? This is something new, definitely something he has not seen before in his life. He felt magicka flow into his head at the time of the explosion, but he had mistook that for waste due to incompetent spellcasting. And the explosion? It was flashy and bright, yes, but it didn't have the penetrating power required to pierce dragon hide. But still - quite a spell, that was! Paarthurnax then decides to respond to Louise in his usual deep and powerful voice.

_'She has no ill intent. So neither shall I.'_

Ah yes, his voice.

The voice of that which was once worshiped and held sacred by an entire race. The voice whose magicks burned, froze, and drove into insanity both Men and Mer. Coming from the mouth which had dismembered and decapitated so many. Words are spoken with the tongue which had so eagerly lapped up the blood of the living, the dying, and the dead. Words whose syllables can easily be morphed from,

_**"Yes, human. I can understand you."**_

To,

_'Yol Toor Shul! Bah! This bloodlust has not bothered me for many an age, and yet it decides to appear today of all days? This moment of all moments? And so suddenly, too! Bah! My scales itch, my throat is dry; I need something to kill - but why?'_

_'Ah, how foolish of me. I forget myself. I am a dovah; I am meant to dominate; I am meant to kill. These are primitive urges; I can keep them in check. That worried me quite a bit.'_

Louise's eyes sparkle in wonder, and her smile - oh, that cute, tiny smile; so fragile, so sweet, and so unexpected to the dragon that he is surprised quite a bit. This mortal in front of him can't be older than thirteen summers. The normal reaction of someone as young as her would be wariness and suspicion of him, but that doesn't seem to be the case right now. Interesting child, this one. Very pure, too - there is not any blackness in neither her heart nor her soul. There is a _feeling_ welling up in Paarthurnax's chest, but he doesn't know what it is, exactly.

_'And...'_

Paarthurnax's train of thought is halted for a brief moment, as a little bit of golden humanity shines through his heart. He puts himself in the shoes of the people he had wrongly killed for a little while.

_'... what kind of person would I be, if I deprived this one of life this instant? How idiotic of me. I nearly gave in to my lust to dominate. The Dovahkiin would be disappointed in me; the Greybeards would be disappointed in me, if they are here with me. Or perhaps the latter would not? And what of my brothers who had taken to learning the Way of the Voice? I am their teacher, and they are my students; and this fault which I have made, had they seen it, would have tainted them forever. But enough of this.'_

Paarthurnax's powerful voice boomed once again, stopping Louise from thinking aloud and acting her daydream of her and her familiar getting sweet revenge on Kirche, Montmorency, and the others who have wronged her.

_**"We have not met properly, human. Drem Yol Lok - my name is Paarthurnax. I am Junesedov - the Ruler of All Dragons, Master of the Way of the Voice. Now, tell me - what is yours?"**_

Paarthurnax is getting mildly annoyed at the sheer awe these humans experienced whenever he did something. Or was it because he had said that he was the Ruler of the Dragons? It's only a natural reaction, but still...

"Th-the ruler of all dragons?!" Louise stammers in disbelief, "B-b-but how can that be! You're not bigger than the average dragon, and your forelegs are missing! Plus, the way your wing joints are connected to your body is all wrong! A-and you don't look regal at all!"

_'What?'_

Now this isn't what Paarthurnax was expecting. Mortals did not speak in such a way to him. Not anymore, anyway. The last person who did that died thousands of years ago, in the black pit of a dragon's stomach.

But that dragon was Paarthurnax then. This is Paarthurnax now.

_**"I do not lie when I say that I am the Ruler of my kind, child. Yes, some of my brothers do look more... aesthetically pleasing to your mortal eyes than I, but I am their King."**_

There is a pause, as Louise expected Paarthurnax to continue. But, just as she is about to speak, the old dragon interjects.

_**"And what do you mean, that my forelegs are missing?"**_

There is a cute scowl on Louise's face as she begins to lecture the old dragon on the subject of dragons. A cute scowl indeed; and that cuteness is underlined by a raised finger and a hand on her hip. A lecturer's pose. The sight of this surprises old Paarthurnax again. The one in front of him truly did not fear him, at all! Ah, she must be one of those mortals who know not of sadness, whose thoughts are only that of happiness. Long ago, there was a cult like that, using both magicka and alchemy in their reckless pursuit of happiness. Whenever one of their high-ranking would leave their cave, either intentionally or accidentally, they would always laugh and say the most flattering of things, although the manner in which they said it was more disturbing than flattering. The lower-ranking members were less eccentric, only having lost their fear of everything. But if she were really in a cult like that-

_'My thought patterns are erratic. Never in my life have I ever followed whatever wreck of a logical process I just followed. I feel a soft, weak magicka humming from the runes that have been burned on my left wing. I wonder...'_

"What are you talking about? Aren't you a dragon yourself?" Louise straightens herself up, trying to make herself look taller, trying to make herself look like someone with more power, trying to make herself look worthy of having a dragon as a familiar, even if it's a broken one. A dragon is a dragon, after all. She continues, "All dragons have four legs: two hind legs, and two forelegs. Their wings are attached at the top of their body, at the center; not like yours, which are closer to your breast. But, then again, Rhyme Dragons have become extinct, and you're a Rhyme Dragon, right? So..."

Paarthurnax stops listening and gives himself another internal chuckle. Ah, the innocence of this child! It is so very refreshing! _Rhyme Dragons_! And look at the way she stands before him! It is like she is his teacher, and him, her student! How unbelievably...

_'... what's the word? Childish...? Child-like? No...' _

_'... cute?'_

Cute, indeed. This puzzles Paarthurnax. Not once has he felt this way towards a mortal. Infants are infants, vulnerable to predators and other things with sharp teeth, not really objects for affection. He should know - he ordered an entire Nordic settlement to feed him their newborn children once. That was a very long time ago, before he came to pity man. Memories so perfect and so clear that they may just have been made a mere second ago are evoked from within: the taste of infants' blood, the vain resistance of their flesh against his teeth; the taste of their very souls, so innocent, so pure, so white, unblemished, untarnished, immaculate. He laughed in the face of the parents and the relatives of those children. He remembers threatening those who showed even the slightest amount of sadness with the pain of death. And his threats were made true, for Paarthurnax does not bluff. How many did he kill in that half-hour?

A lot. All the thirty Nordic families that had lived in that village were devoured by Paarthurnax. Windhelm was forced to import some of their food for a good while.

But that was a long time ago. Paarthurnax has mastered patience itself. And yet, his emotions are flaring up. Guilt, bloodlust and affection - their intensities so great, and so unnatural.

_'It must be the runes. It must be. I have mastered patience itself. It must be the work of foul magicks.'_

"Hey! Are you even listening to me?"

Paarthurnax was staring directly at the sun before Louise had called his attention. After turning his gaze towards the little girl ever so slowly, he speaks once again.

_**"No, I was not. Forgive me. Dremmi Sil. I was lost in thought, contemplating the effects of these runes on me - these runes which have burned themselves into my**** wing."**_ Paarthurnax unfurls his left wing so that Louise could get a better view of them, shifting his body so that he wouldn't fall over. Louise looks more at his dilapidated wings than the runes, however. _**"I wish to know of their inner workings, but that will come later. Introduce yourself to me, child. I have yet to know your name."**_Paarthurnax then folds his wing, righting himself.

Louise mentally chides herself for not doing that earlier. _'Idiot! Idiot!'_ She straightens herself up once again to make herself look presentable. Her voice is is a sweet song to Paarthurnax - surprising him once again - as she utters a string of words, the soft movement of her pink lips as they part and close drawing the old dragon's eyes to them. Her reddish-brown eyes are fitting to someone with a bright fire burning in their hearts, and they shine like the grandest jewel on the highest king's crown. And her face? Well, her face is smooth! Smoother than even the most windward of stones on Paarthurnax's own Strunmah, the Throat of the World! Her skin is white and immaculate like soft snowfall.

These angelic features only serve to worry Paarthurnax more.

But not Louise, who smiles, ignorant of them.

"I am Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière! And from this moment onwards, you," and Louise points a finger at the old dragon, "are my familiar!"

_'A familiar is a being summoned by a mage as a slave, often to assist them in battles.'_

A ghost of a scowl furrows Paarthurnax's brow ever so slightly. His gaze drifts from Louise, towards the sky, once more.

_'Akatosh, my father, is this your method of punishing me for sins committed? Humiliation? Why not death, father? I am immortal; I will no doubt outlive this torment. And why now, when you could have done it so long ago? Or, perhaps, this is not at all a punishment, only some twist of fate? I do not have answers to these questions, but I will play along. Punishment or not, this is most interesting to me. It will be... a learning experience.'_

"... who are... hey! Are you even listening to me?! Don't look away from me! Pay attention!"

Unlike last time, Paarthurnax does not break his staring contest with the sun. With a huff, he responds to Louise.

_**"I was paying attention to the important parts, child. So, I am to become your familiar? If that is my father's will, then so be it. Truth be told, I am interested to see what happens.****"**_

There is a pause as Paarthurnax closes his eyes, breathing once, before he struggles with his words.

_**"... I... I am... I am at your**** command..."**_

Another pause.

_**"...**** master."**_

Louise smiles, even brighter than before. Paarthurnax says something quickly.

**_"I would guess that these runes, which I think is the seal to the contract between master and slave," _**the old dragon unfurls his wing yet again, _**"have some sort of effect on the familiar's mind. I do understand that this makes me... protective of you, as I see majesty and divinity whenever I would stare at your form for too long. Krosis - dovahse krodaaz jul. Bah." **_

A pause.

_**"Now, I would like you to explain to me in detail the magical properties of these runes, so that I would better counter any ill effect they might try to impose upon my soul. I stress the importance of this. My will is being bent."**_

The solemn manner in which the dragon had said the words - not to mention the deepness of his voice - intimidates Louise.

"A-ah. S-sorry, but you're gonna have to ask Mr. Colbert about that kind of stuff. I don't really know the specifics..."

Paarthurnax raises a metaphorical eyebrow.

_**"But surely, you must be a master mage, for you have summoned a great dragon like myself! I thought you would be well-versed in the art of summoning."**_

_'Master mage,' 'I thought you were' _- bad thoughts of her getting made fun of by her classmates for her being inept at magic assault Louise's mind. She falters for a moment, and it shows in her face. She quickly blocks them out, however.

"Ah, well... no... b-but..."

Louise regains confidence, changing the topic.

"... but are you really the ruler of all dragons? I don't like it when my familiar lies to me, dragon or not!"

_'My pride bleeds.'_


End file.
